


Keeping the Shadows at Bay

by lady_needless_litany



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Counselling, F/M, OCs - Freeform, Post ST:DSC Season 1, mentions of trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-26 00:40:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15652239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_needless_litany/pseuds/lady_needless_litany
Summary: Katrina and Sarek have worked together for months, so it makes sense that he's the first one to realise that she hasn't fully recovered from the war. Luckily, there's a young medical cadet that's happy to listen and help.





	Keeping the Shadows at Bay

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [BlackQat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackQat/pseuds/BlackQat) in the [july2018](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/july2018) collection. 



> I realise that I've interpreted your prompt quite loosely, but I hope that you're still able to enjoy it. :)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
> When Ambassador Sarek suggests that Admiral Cornwell get some PTSD counselling, he isn't suggesting drinks in a bar with a friendly young doctor from Georgia. [AU McCoy]
> 
> And ditto, when Sarek suggests counselling to Prime Lorca!
> 
> So maybe, they each consult separately with the good old fashioned country doctor ... or maybe they run into him while they're out together, before they ever go to counselling?
> 
> Three-way conversation is fine, but please no three-way sexxin, thx
> 
> Can be comic or angsty.

The medal ceremony for the crew of the  _ Discovery _ was drawing to a close. The audience had begun to dissolve, which Katrina took as her cue to vacate the room.   
  
As she reached the door, Sarek fell in step with her. They walked at a sedate pace and in an amicable silence born from months of close cooperation.   
  
As the hubbub from the auditorium subsided, Sarek spoke.   
  
"It may not be my place to say this," he said carefully. "Especially as you are a qualified practitioner in the field."   
  
"But?" Katrina replied, curious.   
  
"I believe it would be advantageous for you to seek professional assistance regarding your mental health."   
  
Ah. She supposed that she'd been lucky to get that far without someone mentioning it. And at least it was Sarek, rather than someone who was going to get emotional about it.   
  
Still, she couldn’t help a touch of elusiveness. "What about it?"   
  
"Admiral, you have suffered extensive trauma and stress over a protracted period of time, and to my knowledge have yet to address that."   
  
She sighed wearily. "Well, you're not wrong, but where would I find the time? Starfleet is flat out at the minute and that's not about to change."   
  
"Starfleet, I'm sure, could spare you for a few hours if it resulted in you being better mentally equipped."   
  
Audibly reluctant, she replied: “Maybe, maybe...we'll see.”   
  
Sarek nodded, almost imperceptibly, in acknowledgement of her response.   
  
"You must excuse me, Admiral." Sarek said. "I must speak with Commander Burnham."   
  
Katrina smiled. "Of course. I hope that she will accept her reinstatement."   
  
"I have no doubt of that." Katrina could have sworn that Sarek's reply held a note of pride, though she was sure he’d deny it if asked.   
  
"She deserves it. Starfleet could use more people like her."   
  
As she watched him walk away, she mulled over his words. They had a degree of truth to them, but something in her was resistant to the idea. She sighed again, conflicted, then turned and made her way back to her office, where a stack of work awaited her.

* * *

 

The  _ Discovery _ was launching later that day, Vulcan-bound, ready to face the galaxy once more. Gabriel, of course, would not be onboard - the ship was picking up its new captain enroute.

  
Most of the crew had already been back on the ship for several days, but there were a couple of shuttles leaving that morning. Sarek was scheduled to be on one of them, and Katrina had resolved to see him off - some kind of closure, not to mention a respectful gesture towards months spent strategising together in the darkest months of the war.   
  
Sarek was conversing with the shuttle's pilot when she arrived, but he waved the woman away once he saw Katrina out of the corner of his eye. He waited by the shuttle's open door as she strode across the concrete.   
  
"Admiral Cornwell," he greeted her. "I was not expecting to see you this morning."   
  
"It seemed rude to let you leave without thanking you for your service to Starfleet," she said. "And personally, too: I'm not sure I could've made it through without your pragmatism."   
  
"You are welcome," he replied. "But I assure you that your relentless optimism and perseverance were equally invaluable.”   
  
"My best to your wife, as well," she finished. "I wish you both well in your future endeavours."   
  
"And I, you."   
  
"Oh, also, I thought I'd tell you that I'm acting on your suggestion. I'm looking through the counselling and therapy options."   
  
She omitted the fact that none of them sounded like they'd work for her. From her own experiences, she knew that the Starfleet-provided services would be of little to no use: they were good, but she needed something less structured, something more relaxed. The civilian therapists that she had contacted were either too expensive or too far away or too busy to get an appointment.   
  
"I am relieved to hear that. I've no doubt it will be beneficial." He paused. "I must go, but I think that ours will be a temporary farewell. Our paths will cross again."   
  
"Hopefully it’'ll be under more auspicious circumstances next time."   
  
"Indeed. Farewell, Admiral."   
  
"Goodbye, Ambassador."   


That same day, she was notified that Gabriel was now sporadically conscious, his general condition improving. Although his presence was kept quiet, he was being treated in the Academy hospital - arguably Starfleet's best.   
  
The news galvanised her into action. In a matter of a few days, she'd rented an apartment nearby and had her commission temporarily transferred to San Francisco. Starfleet, perhaps in recognition of her front-line contribution to the war effort, was surprisingly helpful. Realistically, she could do her job from anywhere on Earth, as long as Starfleet kept paying her wages. She was enroute before a week had past.

* * *

 

She arrived on a miserable Tuesday morning and immediately took a taxi to the hospital. She was out of uniform, but her ID would secure her the access she needed.    
  
“I'd like to see the hospital director, please,” she told the man on the reception desk. "Or the highest-ranking person currently available."   
  
He looked a little put-out at her forwardness, but in that moment she really couldn't have cared less about his ego.   
  
"The hospital director is very busy," he began in a condescending tone. "If you tell me the subject that you need to discuss with her, I might be able to arrange a meeting for a few week's time. Or help you find someone else to speak with."   
  
Katrina couldn't lie to herself - knocking the man down a few pegs would be extremely satisfying.   
  
"Unfortunately, the subject is classified," she said, tone level and polite. "And I'll need to see her today."   
  
To punctuate the point, she slid her Starfleet identification card across the desk. He peered at it, gaping a little when he saw her title. His attitude, however, remained superior.   
  
"I'm afraid that she isn't available at the moment, even if your enquiry is urgent."   
  
She was beginning to lose her temper. Mustering all the calm she could, she gestured to the telephone next to him. "Can you call her?"   
  
"Of course, but it'll be a waste of time. I can assure you that her answer will be the same as mine."   
  
"Regardless: I'd like you to call her and ask." Her voice was firm.   
  
With an expression that fractionally fell short of an eye-roll, he reached for the phone and dialled the director's number. There was an awkward silence as they waited for her to pick up. One ring, two, then a third. Then, finally, a “hello?”   
  
"Sorry to bother you, Director, but there's a woman asking to speak to you. She's most insistent."   
  
Katrina couldn't discern what was said at the other end of the phone.   
  
"Yes, ma'am. She's Starfleet."   
  
He paused a second.   
  
"Admiral Cornwell."   
  
A silent grinding of teeth. “Of course. She's in reception.”   
  
He put the phone down with unnecessary force. "She says to tell you that she's coming down to see you."   
  
"Good." Katrina smiled, playing the benevolent superiority card. "Thank you."   
  
He slung her ID card back across the desk.   
  
She hovered by the desk for a few minutes, the man making a visible effort to ignore her. Thankfully, it wasn't long before there was the sound of decisive footsteps and an authoritative-looking woman appeared.   
  
She smiled at Katrina as they shook hands. "I'm Abana Asante; I'm the hospital director."   
  
"Katrina Cornwell. Pleased to meet you."   
  
"Likewise." Asante stepped back, gesturing towards a lift. "This way, please. We've got a lot to discuss."

The presence of Director Asante instinctively set Katrina at ease; the woman had an aura of intrinsic competence and exuded a confidence that was entirely without arrogance. Her movements strived for efficiency rather than elegance, so at times they seemed abrupt. When she spoke, her sentences were concise, though almost always grammatically perfect.   
  
As a result, Katrina saw that it would be easy to misinterpret her as cold or aggressive, but in truth she was simply busy and accustomed to running a sizeable operation using not nearly as many resources as she would have liked, and therefore expended nothing that was not absolutely essential. She was, in fact, quite amicable towards Katrina - possibly because she sensed an equal.   


The lift took them to the fifth floor. The fifth floor contained the long-stay wards, so the corridors were far more organised and calm than most parts of the hospital. It was a short walk to a set of doors labelled 'Cochrane Ward (Private - Authorised Personnel Only)'.    
  
"We rarely use the Cochrane Ward." Asante explained. "Generally only to quarantine extremely rare or harmful diseases or to treat patients whose situation is classified for some reason."   
  
As they pushed through the double doors, Katrina could see why. It was relatively small, only three rooms on either side of the corridor. Some were totally empty, while others housed comfy chairs (a room for counselling, perhaps - it looked similar to those that Katrina had seen while pursuing psychiatry) or several paperwork-laden desks (presumably a makeshift office for the staff treating Gabriel). Either way, you could see straight into all of them, because the corridor was lined with wide windows that allowed you to spy on the occupants. It wasn't an unpleasant place - to the contrary, it was light and bright and airy - but it did lack any sense of character. Too clinical.   
  
Katrina could instantly see that Gabriel was in the far-left room; he was the only patient in the entire ward.   


In front of the window that looked into his room, studiously examining their clipboards, stood two figures in standard Starfleet medical attire; Director Asante introduced her to these two doctors.  
  
"I'm Dr. Jackson," the first said. He was physically unremarkable, but had a startlingly deep, resonating voice. "I'm taking the lead on psychiatric recovery."  
  
He stepped back and was replaced by a medium-height person with a notably firm handshake and an ambiguous accent. "I'm Dr. Lee. In charge of Captain Lorca's physical recovery."  
  
Unlike Jackson, who seemed very personable, Lee seemed a little more withdrawn, like xe was far more comfortable dealing with the technicalities of xir job rather than the personalities. Privately, Katrina commended Asante for pairing them, as their competencies complemented each other perfectly: two like Jackson would have been overwhelming, two like Lee would have been stilted.  
  
"There's also a small group of nurses," Jackson added. "Between all of us, there's always someone on the ward."  
  
Asante nodded. "It's not our standard procedure, but we've been ordered to keep everything as quiet as possible. But I assume that, as an Admiral, you have all of the appropriate clearance and such?"  
  
"Yes, the whole Admiralty is aware of the situation. Beyond that, very few people know."  
  
"You can trust my staff's discretion," Asante said firmly. "I'll leave you with Dr. Jackson and Dr. Lee, but feel free to contact me if the need arises."  
  
Katrina thanked her, briefly, before the other woman left, her measured steps echoing through the empty ward.

"Perhaps we could sit down while we discuss the situation?" Jackson suggested tactfully, perhaps sensing Katrina's travel weariness.   
  
She followed the pair into the adjacent room, the one serving as a temporary office. Besides their two desks - plywood affairs that bowed under the weight of the paper on them - there was a wheeled office chair that she instantly appropriated and an ancient water dispenser.   
  
She shifted her chair so as to be directly opposite Dr. Jackson, who now sat behind his desk and appeared to be the one about to speak.   
  
Surprisingly, Lee was the one that spoke first. "You're a psychiatrist, aren't you, Admiral?"   
  
"By training, yes, but I've been out of touch with the medical world for years."   
  
"Still. It means that you'll be able to be more involved in the process."   
  
"We'd very much like you to be involved." Jackson elaborated. "The circumstances are pretty unusual, to say the least. Might be helpful for him to have a friendly face."   
  
Katrina acknowledged his point. It made sense.   
  
"Do you think you'll be able to visit regularly?"   
  
"Yes, definitely. I'm back here for the foreseeable future. I can be here every day."   
  
"Good - that should give him a sense of structure." Jackson replied. "Now, we've been made aware of the...outline of what happened, but we're lacking detail. You'll let us know of anything else that we need to know, if that happens?"   
  
"Of course. If I'm honest, we're all in the dark. We know about the parallel universe and the nature of it - which suggests that his experiences must have been traumatic - but we don't what happened to him."   
  
Jackson made an indistinct noise in response, clearly disappointed but unsurprised.   
  
"One final thing, then, and then we'll get on to how he's doing."   
  
This preface made Katrina a little nervous. "Yes?"   
  
"How are you related to Captain Lorca, exactly? You're listed as his next of kin, but no connection is supplied. I don't mean to pry and I usually wouldn't ask, but in cases like this, small details matter."   
  
Katrina looked down at her hands in her lap. "We're not related in the familial sense. We've known each other for a long time, though." Her gaze flicked up again. "Was anyone else listed as next of kin?"   
  
"Yes, someone called Matthew. A cousin, I believe."   
  
She'd met Matthew once. His maternal cousin, if she remembered rightly. Despite being about the same age, him and Gabriel had never been close, and had drifted apart once they'd both left their respective homes. A decent man, but lacking in imagination. "Right."   
  
"When we contacted him, he asked to be left out of things. Said that he was occupied with his own family and that he thought he'd do more harm than good."   
  
She felt a pang of sadness. She hated the thought that Gabriel has no one. She wasn't not blind to the fact that Gabriel himself chose to let those relationships fall into disrepair after his parents passed away ("I've got nothing in common with any of them, Kat — they don't get Starfleet or travelling or anything, so what's the point?"), but Matthew's reticence felt like abandonment.   
  
"I see." That was the only reply she could muster.   
  
Jackson took over, not requiring her input for the next phase of the conversation. He went over Gabriel's condition and their plan for treatment, emphasising that it would be a lengthy process; Lee occasionally stepped in to provide clarification.   
  
When they’d concluded, she ventured to ask one of the questions that had been plaguing her most doggedly. "Has he spoken?"   
  
"Briefly."   
  
"Do we know how he returned?"   
  
She was desperate to know. It was like he'd just...reappeared. Floating in an escape pod near Mars. Unconscious and totally unresponsive.   
  
"Not yet, unfortunately."

* * *

 

She received an email, later that day, from a medical cadet at the Academy.   
  
It was the first thing in a while that wasn't in some way related to the war, so she immediately fired off an invitation to drinks at a nearby bar the following night.

There was no shortage of cheap bars in the area immediately surrounding the Academy, but Kirsch's kept the cadets at bay through a lack of neon signage and slightly higher prices. Instead, it was mainly populated by civilians, off-shift medical staff, and officers. There was an unspoken 'ignore me and I'll ignore you' policy between them all.   
  
Katrina had arranged to meet at six o'clock; the cadet, one Leonard McCoy, had accepted, saying that it coincided with the end of his shift at the hospital. She made sure that she was ten minutes early - anything else would have been bad form.   
  
It turned out that he'd pipped her to the post.   
  
A young man waved at her from a table in the centre of the room. He was young, as she would've expected, with brown hair that refused to entirely lie flat and a face that seemed naturally inclined to a slight frown.   
  
She hastened over.   
  
He stood and extended his hand immediately. "I'm Leonard. Thanks for agreeing to meet me."   
  
"Katrina Cornwell," she returned, shaking his hand.   
  
It was an innocuous enough introduction. Katrina's initial impression was that he was good-natured and warm, despite his apparent frowniness. That could easily be attributed to stress - probably a combination of the classes and long shifts required of final-year medical cadets.   
  
Katrina excused herself to order a drink. On her return, she took the chair opposite him, folded her hands onto the table, and looked at him expectantly. "So," she started. "You're a medical cadet, right?"   
  
"That's right. Final year. Should be getting my first commission in July."   
  
"Are you one of those people who have an obsession with space? Or to travel?"   
  
"In all honesty, Admiral-" he laughed awkwardly.   
  
"You can call me Katrina, since we're both off-duty," she cut in. Her own actions surprised her - she wouldn't usually be so open or casual, but something about the scenario and her interlocutor compelled her.   
  
He nodded. "Sure. In all honesty, I'm not a massive fan of space. It's just that Starfleet's the best option in terms of opportunity. For variety and-" he waved his hand vaguely. "-stuff."   
  
"I can understand that. I joined up because I realised that practicing on Earth wasn't going to give me the satisfaction I wanted. And then I discovered Command. After that, the rest was history."   
  
She sighed, briefly wondering where she'd be if she'd stuck to psychiatry.   
  
"Anyway, that's not why we're here. What was it that you wanted to talk about?"   
  
"Right. Well, I'm researching the psychological impact of extended periods in deep space..."   
  
Leonard went on explaining his research, mentioning a paper that Katrina had written years ago. She commented here and there, expanding on some of his more simplistic assertions, enjoying the lively discussion. They wound down when Katrina noticed that Leonard was yawning more and more often, which he insisted was due to sleepiness rather than boredom.   
  
As a parting comment, Leonard mentioned that he liked the bar, even though he'd never been before.   
  
"Oh, this place is a favourite of mine."   
  
"Really?"   
  
"Hm. I recommend their Cardassian Sunrise."   
  
"I'll have to come back sometime to try it."   
  
"In all honesty, it's been a while since I was last here," she says. What she means is:  _ before the war, with Gabriel, with friends I've said eulogies for. _ "I'd forgotten how much I liked it."   
  
"I can see why. Actually, this might be the start of a bad habit."   
  
Katrina raised an eyebrow - a habit she'd acquired from Sarek - in humour. "Maybe I'll see you around here sometime."   
  
"I'll make sure of it." Leonard laughed good-naturedly.

* * *

 

Katrina quickly learnt that Leonard was true to his word. Their meetings became frequent, though not quite regular: they each became accustomed to dropping into the bar every few days, even if only for a glass of water. At least once a week, their paths would cross.   
  
By the fourth or fifth meeting, when they'd known each other about a month, Katrina started opening up. From there, she told him about her Academy hijinks, the hardships of the Klingon War, her hopes of Starfleet's future. She found it liberating; in return, she listened to the latest Academy drama (incredibly amusing, largely due to Lepnard's cynical narration), offered research advice, and convinced him that he wasn't going to fail his final exams. He told her that she provided a spot of calm in his otherwise frenetic life, which she was glad for.   
  
But no matter how close they grew, she always avoided the topic of Gabriel. Not because she didn't trust him. Because she knew that once she started she'd never finish.   
  
Until she slipped up one day. It had been a long day, she hadn't eaten, and she'd had one sip of alcohol too many.   
  
"I'm just a tired," she explained, when Leonard asked about her unusual paleness. She hadn't been sleeping well lately. "It's just...hard, seeing Gabriel go through this. I still don't know what really happened-"   
  
She broke off as she caught Leonard's quizzical look.   
  
"Who's Gabriel?" he asked.

Damn. She’d been doing so well.   
  
"Captain Gabriel Lorca. We've been friends for a long time - since our Academy days."   
  
"Right. And what happened to him?"   
  
"Well," she said, worrying her lip. "That's technically classified."   
  
He raised an eyebrow. "Technically?"   
  
"There's not very many people who are allowed to know. Even the immediate family of the people involved aren't supposed to know." she said. "But if you can guarantee that you can keep a secret..."   
  
Leonard mimed zipping his lips together.   
  
"I can't you here. Too many ears."   
  
"That's fair."   
  
Katrina drained her glass. "Are you finished?"   
  
Leonard replied in the affirmative.   
  
There was a small park attached to the Academy, just around the corner from the bar. It was always empty at that hour, so they walked through it and Katrina related the details of the affair. Parallel universes, terrifying alternate selves, a ship that could materialise and dematerialise on command. That was the stuff of fiction, not reality. Leonard could barely believe it; he probably wouldn't have bought it if not for the deadly seriousness in Katrina's tone, as well as a palpable amount of self-recrimination. He stayed silent throughout: even if he'd wanted to speak, what was there to say? 'I'm sorry you had to go through that'?    
  
When she'd gotten through the whole lot, Katrina fell into silence.   
  
Leonard, still reeling, mentally groped for something tactful to say. He drew a blank.   
  
Eventually, it was Katrina who broke the silence. "It's somewhat unbelievable, isn't it?"   
  
"You can say that again."   
  
"Sorry that I dumped that on you. But I just had to tell someone - someone that I don't work with."   
  
"Hey, no, don't worry. I get it." Leonard said, rushing to reassure her. "But...can I have a little while to process it all?"   
  
"Sure," she said, relieved that he hadn't totally freaked out. "Besides, I should be getting home. Work to do."

* * *

 

"So," Leonard said, a few days later. They were back in the bar, escaping from the day's relentless rain. It was only half-past six, but they were both on Saurian brandy already. It just seemed like that kind of day. "Tell me about - what did you call him the other day? Terran Lorca?"   
  
"Honestly, I don't know anymore. 'Terran Lorca', 'Mirror Lorca'; just plain 'Evil Lorca'. We can't seem to make up our minds."   
  
"'Evil Lorca.'" Leonard practically tutted. "Well, Starfleet ain't known for being tactful, but that's straight-up harsh."   
  
"It's not wrong, though. He was evil. He did evil things." Katrina shook her head. "Still can't believe I let it happen."   
  
"You can't blame yourself." he replied diplomatically. "It was hardly your fault."   
  
"If I'm honest," she said, taking a gulp of her drink. "I just feel like an idiot. I should have known."   
  
"I know that he's one of your oldest friends, but it sounds like this mirror version was a devious bastard. Seems like it was damn near impossible to tell. I mean, no one else knew."   
  
"You're not wrong," she forced a humourless laugh. "But no one else tried to sleep with him, so there's a bit of a difference."   
  
Leonard's eyes widened fractionally. "Wait - you and him - um - slept together?"   
  
She nodded. "We - that is, the real Gabriel and I - have had sex in the past. We've never been in a relationship, as such, but we've been friends since the Academy and neither of us have had any long term partners, so..."   
  
She shrugged.   
  
"OK, fair enough." Leonard had recovered slightly from his shock. "But even so..."   
  
"I know: it wasn't not my fault. Sure as hell feels like it was, though."   
  
She shook her head.   
  
"It's just...that Lorca was a cold-blooded murderer, and he lied and manipulated good people, Starfleet personnel that I was responsible for, in a roundabout way." This statement was punctuated by another fortifying sip of alcohol. "We almost lost the war because of the  _ Discovery _ 's disappearance — how many people died because of him? And — how did I not know?"   
  
There was a moment of profound silence between them, filled with the chatter and clatter of the bar's other patrons.   
  
"Look," Leonard said finally. "I'm pretty sure that there's nothing I can say to ever make you stop blaming yourself for not realising it wasn't him, although you definitely should. No one else figured it out either. On the other hand, I absolutely refuse to let you blame yourself for his actions. You're right: he was a murderer and a liar and a manipulator and all of those things. You're not. You didn't do the things that he did, nor did you facilitate it. You were as much a bystander as I was, and I was down here on Earth."   
  
She just shook her head. "Let's not talk about it now. Every time I think about it, I want to punch the bastard."   
  
Leonard chuckled in response, fully believing that the Admiral wouldn't hesitate to do just that, if the misfortune of meeting him again befell her.

* * *

At some point, she realised that her life had quickly transformed into a routine of work, hospital visits, nights at Kirsch's. She didn't have any friends except Leonard and Gabriel in the area, nor did she have the energy to make any new ones.

  
She went about her work mechanically — she  _ knew _ it mattered, but it seemed so...bureaucratic. Temporary. Ultimately pointless. She did it because that was her job, but she felt that she was permanently sleepwalking. She found that she could break out of that haze with Gabriel and Leonard, because that felt  _ real _ . So she focused on those moments and fully committed herself to helping Gabriel.   
  
Gabriel told her things in dribs and drabs, never so much that it overwhelmed her, but enough that she could begin to comprehend the scope of what had transpired. She knew that he told her things that she hadn't told Jackson — not things of great importance, but small things that showed her the true nature of the universe he'd visited. Things like his horror at discovering that they ate Kelpian. Or the way that they delighted in torturing people, not because it brought them pleasure, but simply because it meant that they themselves were not the ones being tortured.   
  
It put her own trials and tribulations into perspective; they somehow seemed trivial compared to the absolute horror of that realm. Gabriel and Leonard both — separately — assured her that this is not the case and Dr. Jackson offered, on two different occasions, to talk about it or to give her something to keep the shadows at bay a little more easily. She politely declined.   
  
Once, her mind strayed to her alternate self. What things would she be capable of in that shadowy world? She told herself that person was not her, even of they shared a name and a face. She mentally repeated it to herself, even though she knew it wasn't entirely true.   
  
What it was, if not true, was easier than adding it to the recirculating litany of moments from the war. She'd always been strong, but she was beginning to tire of it all, and numbness began to replace the emotions she'd tied to the memories just scant weeks ago.   
  
She hinted at some of this in her conversations and Leonard responded in thoughtful way that she knew he would: he asked if she wanted to talk, listened without passing judgement, then counteracted the self-blaming poison that she'd created in her mind. She felt guilty in unburdening herself, when he'd never asked for it, but he reassured her that he didn't mind - found it interesting, even.

* * *

Knowing that she was the only person that visited him, Katrina ensured that she made it to the hospital every day. She went early in the morning, before work, when the hospital wad quietest. Gabriel didn't sleep well anyway, something they had in common nowadays, so he was almost always already awake by the time she arrived.   
  
On this occasion, she'd had a morning meeting and had had to go in earlier than usual to prepare, so she visited at lunchtime instead.   
  
She was walking up the stairs, because the lift was being serviced,  popping her head out at every corridor to make sure she hadn't gone too far.   
  
The third floor corridor was definitely the busiest, so she stayed there for at least half a minute, transfixed by the organised chaos.   
  
"Admiral Cornwell!"    
  
Katrina turned at the sound of a familiar voice calling her name.   
  
"Leonard!" she said, seeing him a little ways down the corridor. She barely recognised him in his medical whites, his hair far neater than usual. He looked tired, probably nearing the end of a long shift.   
  
"What are you doing here?"   
  
"Visiting Captain Lorca."   
  
"Oh, right, of course. Like usual, or in some sort of professional capacity?"   
  
Vaguely, he made a gesture that alluded to the fact that she was in uniform.   
  
She shook her head. "Just as a friend."   
  
He nodded understandingly. "Sorry, but I've gotta go. I'm on obstetrics at the minute. And, honestly, who knew that Starfleet had so many kids?"   
  
His phrasing brought a smile to her face. "I won't delay you, then. But — are you free to meet later?"   
  
"Yeah, say seven o'clock? Gives me a chance to get some sleep."   
  
"Sounds good."

* * *

Leonard took a moment to think and when he spoke it was slowly and with care. "You were under insane pressure. You made decisions that no one should have to make. Yes, people died. But we couldn't have won the war without you, and you're  _ not  _ responsible for the things that he did."   
  
She looked away. "Thanks."   
  
"No, really, I mean it," he insisted. "No one could have done better."   
  
She made a vague, dissatisfied sound.   
  
"I'm going to get another drink," she said finally. "Want anything?"   
  
He shook his head.   
  
When she sat back down, he searched for a way to turn her spirits around.   
  
"Y'know, there's a girl — she lives a couple doors down from me in Academy digs — who practically idolises you."   
  
"Really?" Katrina's voice was sceptical.   
  
"Yeah, her name's Vryra. She's on the command track."   
  
Katrina didn't seem to believe him, so he dropped it and excused himself a few minutes later. Such aggressive despondency seemed contrary to Katrina's character, which worried him. He was determined to get her to work through it — she didn't deserve the load that she burdened herself with, and this seemed to be the only way that he could think of. Perhaps by showing her that she was still, in essence, the same person...perhaps that would give her the boost she needed to properly start her post-war life.

* * *

It was about a week later that Katrina and Leonard met again. Unusually, he'd messaged her earlier that day and asked her to meet him at a particular time. She walked in a few minutes late, having been held up by a hideously long meeting.   
  
"Katrina!" Leonard called down the bar, beckoning her over. He gestured at the Andorian next to him, who seemed to be mildly shell-shocked. "This is Vryra. She's your biggest fan."   
  
The woman — Vryra — smiled incredulously. Katrina extended a hand, grasping Vryra's palm gently.   
  
Leonard subtly relocated them to a corner booth, sitting the two women opposite each other, parking himself at one end. He mainly sat in quietly, happy to let the two of them focus on each other. It took half a drink before Vryra overcame her initial shyness, but she soon launched into an enthusiastic barrage of questions: why Starfleet? Why command over psychiatry? How do you coordinate an entire fleet? How do you become a leader that people both like and respect?   
  
Something about Vryra's attitude made the questions harmlessly inquisitive, not rude or intrusive. Katrina found herself answering, thoughtfully and truthfully, surprised to find that it reminded her of the fact that she was, in fact, a competent vice-admiral, not a backroom penpusher.   
  
Several hours passed before Leonard prodded Vryra, reminding her that they had classes the next morning. The three parted warmly, Katrina heading back to her stale apartment.   
  
She felt different — better, somehow. Lighter. She slept well that night — deeply and dreamlessly.

* * *

“At this point, I just want to get out of here” Gabriel joked. "I've been staring at the same four walls for months."   
  
"Maybe we should talk to Jackson."   
  
"He's a doctor. He's going to tell me to stay put," Gabriel reasoned. "Plus, I'm sure Lee would have something to say about it. Xe's neurotic, I swear."   
  
Katrina rolled her eye. "Xe's not neurotic. Xe's doing xir job."   
  
Lee was stringent, Katrina would admit, but she'd rather that than have Gabriel somehow nullify the months of treatment.   
  
When she brought it up, Jackson was actually fairly amenable to the idea, reasoning that it would give his patient a sense of normalcy. Lee was less than enavid, but rapidly came to concur with him. Between them, the pair concocted a lengthy list of rules to be followed, starting with 'no alcohol' and escalating to 'no strenuous activity of any kind. They were also shaky on the total lack of supervision: that was where Katrina roped Leonard in.   
  
"I'll sign it off as working hours," Jackson told Leonard, who he'd quickly taken to. “Just make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

It was a rare occasion that Kirsch's was totally devoid of anyone linked to Starfleet, but that night was one such occasion. Relief trickled down Katrina's spine: no one to recognise Gabriel and start asking questions.   
  
So they sat there, chatting away amicably, Katrina and Gabriel with stout glasses of water, and Leonard with some flowery cocktail that involved three different fruit juices and an innuendo-laden name. It was clear that Gabriel was enjoying the freedom, to be able to talk and laugh without anyone hushing him. Katrina, too, was enjoying the fact that she could talk freely with him, not having to worry about the ears of any indiscreet Starfleet personnel.   
  
It was eleven forty-five when the bartender asked them, most politely, to vacate the premises, else he risked losing his licence — it was a Wednesday, so he was only allowed to be open until midnight.   
  
They parted ways at the hospital, Katrina leaving Gabriel with a peck on the cheek. Leonard averted his eyes and didn't comment, privately finding the gesture rather sweet. He was a romantic at heart, after all, although he'd never admit it.

* * *

By the time summer came, things had grown chaotic: Leonard was plunged into final exams, Katrina became more and more involved with the plans for regenerating the 'Fleet, Gabriel progressed quickly through his physical recovery and was allowed to leave the hospital, though he had to return each day for various physiotherapy and counselling sessions. He'd taken up residence in Katrina's spare bedroom, but Leonard suspected that most nights were spent in the master room instead.

  
In short, it had been a long time since they'd all sat in the same room.   
  
At the end of July, Katrina made a distinct effort to make plans to meet, spurred by a recent discussion with the upper admiralty.   
  
After a flurry of back-and-forth messages, they concluded that it would have to be a short lunchtime affair — there was simply no other time to spare. As it was, Leonard ended up being fifteen minutes late; he arrived disheveled and red, having practically run from the exam he'd been sitting.   
  
"That was my last exam," he said, not without a hint of pride and relief. "Forever, hopefully."   
  
"There's a bunch more if you ever want to go into Command." Gabriel countered. "Or to become CMO."   
  
"Yeah, honestly that's enough for me to stick to bein' a straight-forward doctor."   
  
They all laughed at that.   
  
"I doubt it," Katrina replied light-heartedly. "It would be a waste if you never made CMO, at the very least."   
  
"Well..." Leonard looked away self-consciously. "Anyway, you mentioned that you had some good news?"   
  
"We're moving off-planet for a while. Not quite sure where — I think that Starfleet's going to keep us on our toes and moving. And Dr. Jackson's approved Gabriel coming with me."   
  
Gabriel interjected. "What she's forgotten to mention is that she's been asked to work on the negotiations to bring — what is it? Five? — new planets to the Federation. And also to advise on expanding and adapting the 'Fleet."   
  
Leonard's eyes widened. "That's great! That's literally the future of the Federation!"   
  
Katrina seemed embarrassed. She couldn't be happier about the posting, but she'd never been good at taking compliments. She rapidly changed the subject.   
  
"What about you? You must have gotten your first commission by now."   
  
"Yeah. The  _ Enterprise _ . I'm starting in about a month."   
  
"It's a good ship. Pike's a good captain." Gabriel said, Katrina nodding in agreement.   
  
"Y'know, it's nice to see things moving forward, in a positive way. The war definitely took its toll, so...I'm glad to see that we're getting away from that."   
  
The two men agreed.   
  
"Actually, that brings me onto something else that I've been wanting to say for a while." Katrina's words caught Leonard mid-sip and he felt a sudden worry. Gabriel didn't look too concerned, but that eased his tension only marginally.   
  
"Leonard, I wanted to say thank you. For being there when I couldn't talk to anyone else. I kind of sprang everything on you without asking and you just took it in your stride," she said, eyes brimming with sincerity. "You've helped us both immeasurably."   
  
Leonard's words were matter-of-fact. "Well, I'd like to think we're kinda friendly now, right? And that's what friends are supposed to do."   
  
She smiled. "Let's be honest: we're more than 'kinda friendly.' Sometimes I think you know more about me than my mother."   
  
"Well, in that case..." he laughed. "Can I persuade you to buy me another drink as a token for my efforts?"   
  
"I think we might be able to stretch it to two."


End file.
